In celebrating the birth of my son, it is now time to celebrate the passing of my grandmother. She died this morning resulting from complications of diabetes, a condition she has had for longer than I have been alive. The funeral is Friday at 2pm, and I am trying to get home.

This is not how I wanted to come home to visit.

However, she suffered for quite a while and now she is at rest. I pray that she is also at peace.

She told stories of running with the revenuers – the folks that ran moonshine during Prohibition would ask ladies in town to travel with them to make deliveries in order to avoid suspicion. I do not remember if the feds ever caught the folks she rode with or not.

She was always proud of her grandchildren, her great grand children, and her great-great grandchildren. She favored my brother, Marcie, and me, and always enjoyed our visits. When my brother had his first, you would have thought that she had won the lottery. The same was true for Marcie and me. She always loved children.

She had six of her own. In turn, she had 26 grandchildren, 54 great-grandchildren and 9 great-great grandchildren. We would all get together about once a year at the Odd Fellows/Rebekah Lodge and catch up. Unlike my father’s side of the family, my mother’s is spread all over: Germany, Louisiana, Nebraska, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, California, Pennsylvania, and a few others if I thought about it long enough.

Knowing my family, this trip to the lodge will be like most others. They’ll be a couple of arguments. Uncles and aunts will disavow each other. Everyone will blame someone else for some minor thing going wrong. In general, there will be an argument about who was supposed to open the lodge and questions of why we couldn’t use so-and-so’s house, etc. The kids will play in the main hall or the field out back. At least one jello mould will sit untouched and then the creator of this gastronomical delight will believe the family hates her. Throughout will be some crying, yelling, and general carrying on. Once the pig is done, though, everyone will eat, have a good time, and scratch their heads wondering why they were angry in the first place.

And then we will grieve.

As such, I believe we will celebrate death in much the same way we celebrate life – with all our heart and soul.